


Violently Technicolor

by the_genderman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Crack, Fashion & Couture, Hot Tub Time Machine - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-29 21:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18302024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: It’s Pan’s Twitterpals Crack Exchange! The prompt, submitted by@softestbuck(twitter)/goodmanperfectsoldier(AO3): “I don’t care how you do it (AU? Canonverse time travel? [two shrug emojis] but I would really like Bucky in Seb’s awful 80s outfit from Hot Tub Time Machine. SteveBucky pls.”





	Violently Technicolor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goodmanperfectsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmanperfectsoldier/gifts).



“Tell them I’m in pursuit,” Steve says, glancing out the window towards the receding silhouette of the shooter. He can’t do anything more for Fury now except catch the person responsible, so that’s what he’s gonna do.

Steve grabs his shield, gets a running start, and crashing through windows, leaps and lands in the building across the street. Sprinting through the office building’s hallways, vaulting over furniture and smashing through doors, he tries to keep his eyes on the assailant. He hasn’t gotten a good look at them yet, seeing only glints of metal in moonlight. Reaching the other side of the building, he sees the assailant leap from the roof onto the next building over. Steve grits his teeth, puts up his shield, and crashes through another window after them. He’s gaining and he _means_ to catch them, get answers, end this now.

Landing in a roll, Steve springs back to his feet and flings his shield on instinct and muscle memory, hoping to hit the assassin before they can leap off the roof and escape. The shield hits with a metal-on-metal clang and Steve looks up, suddenly focused. The assassin’s left arm appears to be made out of metal and he’s wearing a mask or muzzle, but neither of those are remotely the most unusual thing about him. His outfit is absolutely not designed for stealth, unless it’s supposed to function like dazzle camouflage. He’s wearing bright red sneakers, acid-wash blue jeans, and Steve thinks he caught glimpses of at least three layers of shirts. He’s got a red turtleneck underneath a red plaid flannel with blue and white striping underneath the single most horrific jacket Steve has ever seen. The jacket has one black sleeve and one missing sleeve. The body of the jacket, zipped halfway, is a rather nice teal blue except for the violently technicolor “Southwestern” motif. Steve cringes. He’s an _artist_ ; he shouldn’t have to see a monstrosity like this.

While Steve is distracted, the assassin flings the shield back at him and leaps off the side of the building. Steve catches his shield in both hands, pushed back by the momentum of the throw. By the time he recovers and sprints to the edge of the roof, the assassin is gone, vanished into the night. Somehow. In _that_ outfit.

\------------------------

“Tell me about the shooter,” Natasha asks him as they stand behind the glass at the hospital, watching Fury’s emergency surgery, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst. They both need a distraction, and there’s no better distraction than sharing information on the assailant. Natasha has contacts, she’ll be able to find something.

Steve sets his jaw, gives a little internal shudder, then replies. “He's fast. Strong. Had metal arm and the most horrific fashion sense I’ve ever seen, and that's a lot coming from me.”

Natasha gives a tiny gasp of recognition. Hill walks in. Natasha doesn’t look away from Fury, but immediately asking her “Ballistics?”

“Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable,” Hill says, focused on Fury and not looking at Natasha as she answers.

“Soviet-made,” Natasha says, not a question. Hill looks over at her, but she doesn’t say anything more. She knows something, but she’s not ready to say it yet. Steve doesn’t push.

\------------------------

“I know who killed Fury,” Natasha finally answers. She’s decided to trust Steve with her information. “Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier.”

“Why do they call him that?” Steve asks, unable to contain his question. The name seems far too sober for the very loud outfit on the man.

Natasha shrugs. “Maybe the ski jacket? Hey, it’s better than calling him the Technicolor Assassin; no one would take him seriously if we did, and despite his appearance, he’s _very_ serious. He’s credited with over two dozen assassinations over the past fifty years. He’s a ghost story. It probably helps that no one wants to believe accounts involving an assassin who looks like a 1980’s aerobics class reject.”

“You don’t say,” Steve deadpans.

\--------------------

Steve rolls to his feet. The Winter Soldier stands up slowly. Steve sees his face and just… stops.

“Bucky?” Steve asks.

“What the hell is a Bucky? I’m a patriot!” the Winter Soldier shouts back.

Steve looks on, extremely confused.

\---------------------

Bucky drags Steve back to shore, leaving him on the riverbank, battered but alive. He stares down at him, then at his own reflection in the oil-slicked water. He cringes. What in the hell is he even _wearing_? His hand makes its way to the zipper of the kaleidoscopic abomination of a jacket he’s in, pulling it down and slipping out of it. The plaid flannel he’s got on underneath that is bulletproof and stab-proof, but fashion-wise it isn’t much better, he decides. He doesn’t have the dexterity with both hands to unbutton it neatly at the moment, so he rips it open, buttons popping off and getting lost in the mud. The red turtleneck under that is at least _acceptable_. He frowns at his reflection again, then glances back at Steve.

Steve is still alive, still breathing. Bucky doesn’t _want_ to leave him, but he knows he has to. He can’t be here when they find Steve, and besides. He has some HYDRA honchos to track down and ask them why in the name of whatever deity or deities they may or may not believe in did they think this outfit should have been allowed out in the world, much less on an _assassin_. He deserves answers, dammit.

Bucky gives Steve one last look, then he turns and disappears into the trees, sans ski jacket and flannel.


End file.
